


A Distraction

by Polyhexian



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Nightmares, POV Second Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:21:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27334852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polyhexian/pseuds/Polyhexian
Summary: Chromedome has a bad dream and would like to think about something else.
Relationships: Chromedome/Rewind (Transformers)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	A Distraction

You sit up startled when you felt your berthmate thrash beside you, arching his spine and crying out, visor still dark.

"Domey, Domey, wake up!" You cry, shaking your conjunx until his visor flickers on and he goes quiet, panting through his vents in the dark habsuite. 

"Sorry," he mumbles as he began to settle, still visibly stressed but at least aware of where he is.

"Don't be sorry," you hush him, "What was it this time?"

"Did I ever try to kill myself by jumping out off of a skyscraper in Iacon?" he mumbles, sounding embarassed. He always is. You tap the side of your head as you accessed your database, a nervous tick you've never gotten rid of.

"No," you reply, "That was a Decepticon named Gladius, died cycle 4307."

"Right," Chromedome sighs, reaching up to cover his visor with his arm. Your spark aches for him and you crawl up to pull his arm away and hold his face, hushing him gently.

"You're alright," you murmur soothingly, "You're still with me."

He doesn't say anything, but you can see the glow of his visor flicker as his optics track you from behind it, and then he reaches up with both arms and pulls you tight against his chest. You bury your face in his shoulder and pet one of his arms while he comes down.

"Sorry for waking you," he apologizes again, because he can't help it, "You can go back to sleep."

"Are you going back to sleep?" 

"No," he says, "Probably not."

"I'd rather stay up with you," you remind him, because you know he can't believe it.

"Alright," he says, being more consolable than usual. Good for him. 

You can feel his spark pulsing beneath yours, a few layers of plating being all that separates them. This close they synchronize, pulsing at a steady matching rhythm that feels like music in your body, but in the peace and quiet of the room now, like a lullaby. 

"How are you doing?" you prompt, after he's had a bit to be held and relax.

"Better," Chromedome answers, "Thank you."

"I love you," you remind him, sitting up so you can dip your faceplates together softly, "So much."

"I know," he whispers, "War deaths are the worst, you know."

"I know."

"I'm just so glad you're here," he says and rolls your foreheads together, "That you're alive."

"I am alive," you remind him, "I'm real. I'm here. I'm with you."

He moves a hand to the back of your head and tilts it down so your mouth plates bump, passing gentle static between. His other hand strays the opposite direction, palming at your lower back with a hand large enough to cover the whole breadth of it.

"Real," he repeats, "and with me."

"My wonderful, beautiful Chromedome," you whisper, and he slides the hand on your lower back down to your aft and pulls harder at the back of your head, aching for contact. "You're in a strange mood."

"For a minute there I wasn't me," he murmurs, "And I didn't know who you were. I missed you."

"I'm here with you whether you recognize me or not, my love," you say, falling into his more insistent kissing, "I'm yours."

"I'm yours," he repeats, the vibration of the sound passing from his mouth plate to your own and into your core. He pulls you full on top of him to straddle his chest, so large against your tiny body that he could crush you but doesn't. He needs something, but you aren't entirely sure what.

"Hey," you say, pulling away, "Are you alright?" 

"Yeah," he says, gently tugging at you to come back down and kiss him again, "I just want- I want to think about something else. I want to think about how pretty you are."

You huff a puff of laughter through your vocalizer. "A distraction, then?"

"A distraction," he echoes.

"And you're not thinking anything self destructive this plays into, right?"

"I promise," he answers quickly, and you concede to his insistent tugging, returning to your kissing. He sighs into it happily, hugging you close again, plating warm beneath you.

He sighs pleasantly as you work your hands into the folds of his plating and twist your fingers into kinked wire bundles, untangling them gently. You can feel him start to relax as you do, tension draining from his frame as you work him over. 

"You're handsome," you murmur against his chest plating, "Beautiful."

"You're so good to me," he chuckles, and then kisses you again, "You're way out of my league."

"Nuh-uh," you giggle, "We're both super hot."

"Hehe," he laughs, brightening a bit, "We have to stop going out in public and making people look bad, then, huh?"

"Oh, no, fuck 'em," you snicker, "I love showing you off." You sit all the way up, looking down at him. You aren't just gassing him up, you really so think he's beautiful. He's got an odd, gangly frame with strange proportions but it's so endearing, somehow, and his gold visor is the prettiest colour you've ever seen. He tilts his head at you fondly.

"I love you," he says, more confidently. 

"I love you," you respond.

"Show me?" he asks. It's rare he asks like this, he's always so paranoid. You arch your back and lean forward with a purr.

"I'd be happy to."

He lays back, wiggling down to get comfy as you shimmy backward and between his legs, running your palms over the dip in his hips and the insides of his thighs. He shuts off his visor and lets his head fall back, sighing as you work your fingers into his hips to brush across the ball joints.

His panel slides open, but with a slowness you attribute to manual release, so you're especially careful when you knead the lips of his valve with your thumbs. He has a tendency to move too quickly, before he's ready, trying to impress you, and you have to take your time no matter what he does and make sure he's really wet before you do anything.

He hums quietly as you do, massaging the soft silicone of his valve before you slip a finger in through the folds, pulling the sides apart to bear it to cool air, soft and sticky. When you glance up at Chromedome he looks quite pleased, relaxing finally, making little noises while you touch him slow and deliberate. 

"Mmmm," he moans as you push two fingers into his entrance. Your hands are so small compared to him, but he rolls his hips into it appreciatively anyway. 

"You have such a pretty valve," you tell him as you hold it open to admire it, and his visor flickers on dimly, peeking at you.

"That's a weird thing to say," he chuckles.

"Nope," you say primly, rocking your hand into him, "I told you every inch of you is pretty."

"Ah," he breathes as you slip in another finger, "Almost as pretty as you."

His knees are drawn up on either side of you and you kiss one of them playfully. "I should be so lucky."

You rub his node with your other hand and he wiggles his hips and sits up on his elbows. "I want your spike."

"Oh, yeah?" you purr, rubbing his node harder, "That's what you want?" 

He nods emphatically, hips twitching into your touches, "I do, I do-"

"What do we say, then?" You thrust your hand in his valve and he arches his back with a gasp.

"Please," he pants, "Please give me your spike."

You pull your hands away from his valve and he whines as you sit up and release your spike, already pressurized from touching him. You pump your spike a few times, smearing his fluids against your erection and hiking an arm under one of his knees to pull it over your shoulder and he moves the other himself. You line yourself up against his entrance and prod at it with the head while you hook both arms under his legs. 

Your spike is pitiful against his equipment but he's never complained, always reactive to you, and you've long since given up feeling self conscious about it. Your spike presses into his valve, rippling in warmth around you and he moans and lets his head fall back. 

You rock into him, hips rolling slowly. "Look at me," you tell him, without pausing, "I wanna watch you."

He looks up at you, visor flickering and vents stuttering. As soon as you lock optics with him you pull out and snap back in as hard as you can. He gasps and drops back, hands flying up to cling to the headboard behind him. 

"Pretty boy," you remind him, hiking up his legs higher into your lap, "My good boy." 

"Ah!" Chromedome gasps, and you let go of one leg to rub his node in tight fast circles while you fuck him, and he devolves into worldless gasps and cries, rolling hard into you. It doesn't take too much time to bring him to overload like this, valve cycling down as he cries out your name. He's always been sensitive. 

You work him through it and then pull out before he gets overstimulated and overload on his stomach. He doesn't wait a moment before he tugs at your arms to pull you up and back into his arms, as needy as always. 

"Thanks," he sighs into your plating, nuzzling against your neck. 

"I have to clean the transfluid off you," you giggle, but he shakes his head and tightened his grip.

"No!" he says playfully, "I'll take a shower later. Snuggle now."

"Snuggle now," you chuckle, and lean up to tap your masks together again, "How are you feeling?"

"Better," he nods, "You're very distracting."

"Good," you say with a nuzzle, "Do you want to go back to sleep?" 

"Hmm," he hummed, "Maybe. Or maybe _I_ could distract _you_."

"Ooh," you purr and roll your foreheads together, "I like that plan."


End file.
